


Becoming Better

by Turtle_Steed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Eighth Year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23258557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_Steed/pseuds/Turtle_Steed
Summary: Draco and Hermione return to school as Head Boy and Head Girl - and discover friendship and perhaps something more along the way of becoming better.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	1. Chelsea Alley

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I suspect this is the beginning of what will become a moderate length story. Please enjoy!

War has a way of changing things. Changing people. 

Changing the very fabric of society. Even when war has gasped its last breath, and released the world from its clutches, the scar lingers for a time – sometimes forever, if one was unlucky enough.

Immediately after a war, between the celebrating, the cheering, and the reunions the pain trickles on. It can be felt in the bite of the wind, seen in the gleam of the silver nails that once pinned flyers along the streets, scented in even the quiet places of the world – the libraries, churches, classrooms. What once smelled of parchment, ink, dust, opportunity, now smells different – metallic, almost electric. The scent of violent spells collected in small spaces. The scent of blood soaking into the wood of the floor. The faint musk of smoke in the air, a remnant of a home that was once full of life and love. 

Hermione swore, it was if every cell, every molecule on this planet had changed in what they were calling the ‘Second Wizarding War.’ They had named it, as if it was part of the past. Something that could be forgotten, placed into the record books as if it was something that happened to other people. 

She thought the bench underneath her, on a deserted street by the name of Charing Cross Road, might be a completely different bench – a different grain of wood, a metal re-purposed from elsewhere. She didn’t remember the coppery rust on the metal railings, or the slight give in the planks that formed to make a seat. Maybe the dark magic that had leaked into the earth had aged it prematurely – or maybe she was changed. Somehow seeing the world more… realistic. As if the rose-tinted glasses that she had viewed the wizarding world with when she approached this street as a girl had lifted and revealed the rot and reality of the world. 

It was three months after the 'Battle of Hogwarts' – another name, another battle that didn’t happen to other people. Like the lives that were lost were an acceptable price to pay. Like the destruction of Europe’s greatest wizarding school was an expected loss. It was abstract, except for those who were there.

The world still hadn’t recovered. The muggle newspapers were confused – accusatory. Blaming a terrorist group from the Middle East for the mysterious disappearances of innocents throughout Europe. Blaming a bomb, a gunman, an accident for the death of thousands. People were still scared, muggle and magical a-like. The streets remained barren, especially at this back street on the outer ring of London, the traffic of wizarding folk heading into the Leaky Cauldron from the nearby apparition point a thin trickle. 

Voldemort’s Death Eaters were still being rounded up – though many had surrendered directly after the battle and in the coming weeks. The muggle newspapers were flabbergasted at the sudden return of monotony. Afraid it was the build up for something more. Had the terrorist group given up? Or are they just laying in wait? 

Hermione had been relieved at first. The end of the war had felt like breathing for the first time in a long time – like she had been holding her breath underwater. Seeing Harry happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long time was refreshing. Having Ron in the way that she had always wanted him. It had felt like a reward for their suffering. 

But days passed. And slowly, so slowly that she almost didn’t notice it, she began to feel as though she was slipping into the water again – with her head above the surface this time. It trickled by, like she had dipped her toes, but then she was waist deep, and then it was up to her chest, and then her neck and the waves constantly pushed and pulled her with words like ‘rebuilding’ and ‘hero’ and ‘Golden Girl.’ 

She felt like she was choking on words like ‘fairytale’ and ‘love’ and ‘wedding.’ Not that Ronald understood that these things were strangling her. He felt like it was what they deserved, what they had been waiting on. But she couldn’t _breathe._

So, she had taken two weeks when the world was drowning her, heading to Australia in search of her parents. Her parents, of course, who had no memory of her ever existing. Not that it was due to any action other than her own. 

But, when she found them in Australia, the cool water that both drowned her and soothed her, suddenly became boiling. She found them, or a record of them really. An ad for their dental practice in the paper for a small town outside of Melbourne. 

And then, the obituary for her father. Michael Rodney Granger, age 58, dead from an automobile accident. Much loved by his beautiful wife of 25 years, and father of a set of Irish setters. 

There was no official obituary for her mother. Just an article concerning a fire at a private residence two weeks after her father’s death. A single casualty died in the fire, as well as a pair of family dogs. There was a touching blurb in a paper in which employees at the practice they had worked talked about how lovely the Grangers were.

Her father had died just two weeks before Voldemort’s defeat. Her mother died the day after the battle of Hogwarts. 

Their deaths were labeled as accidents, but Hermione had stood in the ruins of what had been their home. She had scented the magic in the breeze that blew over the ruins. The very fabric of the earth screamed against the abomination against life. 

They had been killed by either a stray set of Death Eaters – at least two if her calculations were correct. 

And so, the water that strangled her boiled her alive, her soul changed, completely and utterly. 

She supposed, maybe the world was not all that different. Perhaps she was the one who had been changed by the war. 

Who knew? 

All she knew now is that she had to escape that infernal court room beneath the surface of the city. The Golden Trio, and more than a few witnesses, were testifying against Death Eaters- some that she recognized and some she did not. But after two days, and six long morning hours of listening to the pleas of the people who had murdered her friends, hated her for her birth, and had orphaned her, she thought she thought her head would explode. Or that she would accidentally blow up a quarter of the Ministry’s court rooms. 

Regardless, when she had requested a break, Harry had taken one look at her face and echoed her request. Ron had been snoozing through the morning, between glaring at the random Death Eater on the stand, and had just blinked sleepily at her as she ran from the room. 

She had felt like the pressure of the earth above her was literally pushing her into the ground as she sprinted towards the apparition point in the lobby of the Ministry. The personnel walking the hallways and gathering in the lobbies to deliver paper, attend meeting and the like, stared as she ran past. She must have been a sight, Britain’s Golden Girl, long, brown, curly hair blowing in the wind behind her. Panic in her eyes. She had barely made it to the street outside of the Leaky Cauldron before the embers of her panic turned into flames. 

Hermione glanced at her watch, pulling back the sleeve on her left arm only slightly. Never farther up. She swore, even now, she could hear the echoes of that bitch's screaming in her ear as she carved into her flesh every time she looked at that cursed scar. _Mudblood._

Good. She still had ten minutes before she had to return. 

She only wondered vaguely if Ron had tried to follow her. To be honest, she wasn’t sure she cared anymore. Something ached in her chest, as if something that had once been there was missing. 

She sighed, pulling her sleeves back down and shoving her cool fingers under her arms. She had left her coat in her haste to leave, and her long-sleeved dress was thin enough that she was chilling in the London air. Her fingers brushed over her wand, and she closed her eyes and tried to remember what this street had looked like she was eleven. 

She had been so excited to be a witch. 

Hermione supposed she still was- but she wondered why exactly it had to have been this way. 

The scent of a nearby bakery wafted past her – the scent of cinnamon and cream in the air. Her stomach grumbled feebly, and she regretted forgetting her pocketbook in her rush to leave the courtroom. It was buried under her coat on the seat next to where she had been settled. She could head to Gringott’s for some cash, or _Accio_ her purse to her, but by the time it arrived it would be time to leave. 

The bench protested as someone sat down next to her. Far enough away that she didn’t feel the brush of the breeze of the movement, but she stiffened none the less. Whoever it was smelled lovely, fresh. Cologne, like grass and parchment, a hint of lemon. Great. A man. She hoped he would leave her alone. 

She was somewhat of a celebrity these days, and she swore if one stranger asked her how she managed to be the brains of Britain’s most famous wizarding trio ‘you know, considering,’ she may hex them into the next century. 

She didn’t bother to open her eyes, willing the stranger away. She heard the opening of a wrapper, and suddenly the delectable cinnamon scent was much stronger. She frowned as her stomach growled at her again. 

_Breath in. Breath out. Everything will be okay. Get up and try again another day._

Something her mother used to hum to her quietly as a girl, when she was crying over something or another. 

She had always believed it, growing up, but now she wondered. There wasn’t always a rainbow after the rain, was there?

The wrapper crinkled next to her, and she heard the sliding of something down the bench, towards her. 

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to examine the nearby stranger. 

She was nearly startled out of her seat by piercing grey eyes. They were sunken into a pale face, one that had once been pointy but with a smattering of stubble over the jaw that softened the edges. Painfully handsome, even with the bruises under his eyes that showed the tell-tale signs of little sleep. The slight crinkle on either side of his eyes, and a wrinkle on his forehead that revealed unease even if the face was blank as it examined her. 

Draco Malfoy was sitting on the bench with her, scooted as far away from her as the bench allowed, and a pale hand was pushing a silver wrapper towards her, with a set of plastic silverware balanced carefully on top. When he drew his hand away, the thick ring on his hand gleamed in the dusty London sunlight. She caught her eye on the emerald with an emblazoned _M_ glimmering, the dragon spinning gracefully around the emerald, spelled to never stop moving. 

But it was the words that surrounded the gem, engraved into the white gold, that set her heart into a rapid pace. 

_Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._ Purity will always conquer. Her stomach clenched. 

Hermione was shocked to see him of all people, pushing food towards her as though it was meant for her. She simply looked at the delectable scented wrapper and raised a single eyebrow as she turned her gaze from the offering back to his face. 

It was silent for a minute. Malfoy’s face did not change from his careful mask, although his gaze burned over her. Like he was trying to read her mind. 

He stared at her so long that she nearly jumped with he spoke up, his voice certainly deeper than she remembered.

“Why?”

After a moment, she managed to tear her eyes away from the man, and instead looked back down at the wrapper.

“What is this?” She managed to ask. Her voice was hoarser than she would have liked. She hoped he didn’t read that as fear. 

Malfoy was sitting more still than she thought humanly possible. He was resting on the bench across from the Leaky Cauldron, out in muggle London for the whole world to see, in a crisp set of satin black robes. She flicked her gaze from the wrapper to a woman who was blatantly staring at Malfoy as she strolled past them. She supposed he looked strange to the muggle folk, but she knew they would look strange to wizarding folk as well. The most famous muggleborn and the youngest Death Eater, sharing a bench at lunchtime. 

“A Chelsea bun. Or so they say. They look like they’ve been coated in a sugar,” Malfoy spoke quietly. “The man who sold them had an American accent.”

Hermione just stared.

“Don’t avoid the question. I want to know why, Granger.” 

Hermione blinked at him. The silver of his tie was the exact shade of his eyes. It was unsettling. 

“Did you buy that for me?” 

“That’s typically what it means when someone slides something towards you.”

Hermione stared, “But why?”

“That’s what I’m asking, Granger. Are you typically this daft? I thought you were supposed to be the ‘brightest witch of our age.’” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, straightening in her seat. “What do you want? What do you mean, why? And I don’t want your bloody Chelsea bun.” 

Malfoy sneered at her and looked like he wanted to say something in retort. But he didn’t. After a moment, he smoothed his hands out over his robes to straighten some invisible wrinkles and swallowed.

“I want to know why you testified in support of myself and my family.”

Oh. Right. The Malfoy’s trial had been yesterday, and while still painful to complete, both Harry and Hermione had gone against protests of members of the Order and the Ministry in favor of a lenient sentence for the Malfoy family. She had not been able to look at any of them, but Harry, bless him, had stared the trio down in a calculating way. 

She knew that Dumbledore was gone, and had been a complicated person, but his spirit most definitely lived on in her best friend.

Hermione had taken one look at Lucius Malfoy’s blonde hair and had instantly been thrown into that blasted drawing room. 

Regardless, she had said her part.

_She cleared her throat, approaching the podium that looked over the floor of the massive dungeon in which the Malfoy family sat- secured to a bench with an enchanted sort of chains before the plum-robed Wizengamot themselves. A few months earlier she would have looked up exactly how these chains were enchanted, but lately, she couldn't bring herself to find her curiosity. She had seen the gleam of their hair as they entered, and while Harry was brave and Ronald had scowled at their arrival, she had avoided looking at them at all. She brushed the small statement she had prepared for this moment flat against the podium and spoke with her wand at her throat so that her voice echoed around the room._

_“I am here to give a statement concerning the arrests of the Malfoy family, and to express my opinion concerning their sentencing. All three family members that sit before us were involved with Lord Voldemort as members of his cult, but I believe this is more complicated than a simple case of bigotry and ignorance._

_Draco, while complicated, has shown great bravery in turning against Lord Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts. It is my belief that his love for his family is what lead to him refusing to join Voldemort’s side in those final moments, and that the actions he completed for Voldemort’s side were made completely out of fear for his parents well-being, as well as his own. We have had a complicated past, but I believe if Draco had been raised under different circumstances that the events of the past year would have gone much differently based from his actions._

_Narcissa is likely the person here, other than Harry of course, who is most responsible for the defeat of Lord Voldemort,” the Wizengamot stirred at this statement, but Hermione cleared her throat and continued without looking up at the crowd._

_“Mrs. Malfoy lied directly to Lord Voldemort’s face when he asked her to verify Harry’s death. While it may not have been for noble causes, it was a lie made from love of her son. Lucius, perhaps, is the Malfoy who is hardest to argue for, but it is my belief the Lucius completed most actions out of love for his wife and son as well._

_As a principle, actions made in the name of love should not be severely punished, as love has shown us time and time again to be the most powerful form of magic.”_

Her voice had shaken as she spoke, out of fear, but never out of uncertainty. She held no love for the Malfoy’s, but when asked if she believed that the Malfoy’s were evil, she could not truthfully say yes. 

She remembered the way Malfoy had stared in horror as she was tortured in that horrible room. She remembered how pale he was, and how scared. 

And so, she had testified for them. 

“I think I said why during the trial, Malfoy. Do you really need me to say it again?”

His lips thinned, “I don’t believe you.” 

“Love is the most powerful form of magic. I know that your folk do not believe so, but it does not make it untrue.” 

Malfoy frowned, “Your folk?”

Bugger. She didn’t mean for it to sound like… well, the way the pureblood community had referred to her family all those years. But that was exactly what it had sounded like.

“I suppose I mean Death Eaters. Those who supported his cause.” 

He didn’t say anything for a few moments, and just turned his gaze away from her to examine the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. Muggles continued to stare at his strange cloths, but most rolled their eyes and looked away as if he was simply a street performer. He ignored them, apparently oblivious or uncaring of their judgement. A simple muggle-repelling charm would take care of that, but he either didn't care or wasn't allowed to perform the spell, Hermione assumed. 

Her stomach growled again, and she looked at the wrapped bun mournfully. There was no way her pride would allow her to take it.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he spoke finally. It was spoken so quietly; she had almost missed it.

“Am I?”

“Yes. We believe in the _amor magicae,_ though perhaps differently than you. But I do not believe that it was your true reason for testifying for us. At least not for me.”

“Oh?” 

“Did you suddenly forget the past oh, seven years of your life? I called you _mudblood_ for years. I made fun of your hair, your teeth, your brains. I _hated_ you. Why would you testify for me? I know you Gryffindor’s are noble, but I do not think that you would… throw that all away because you believe I did those awful things because I _love_ my parents. _Of course,_ I love my parents. They raised me, they spoiled me. They tried to protect me. I’m not a monster!”

Hermione said nothing. She examined the cobblestone beneath them. 

“I hurt people. I let… _them_ into the castle. I directly resulted in Dumbledore’s death. I am a _Death Eater!_ ” his last sentence came out in a shout. 

She swallowed and fingered a groove in the grain of the wood. 

He only seemed to grow more agitated at her non-answer, “And take that bloody bun! I bought it for you, and I had to use _muggle_ money. Do you know how confusing that is? Take the damn bun,” he shoved it farther so that the wrapper brushed against her leg. 

“I’m not accepting the bun, so you should just take it if you don’t want it to go to waste.”

He let out a growl that made her jump, and before she could react, he had flicked his wand over the bun and had his wand stuffed back into his robes before anyone could get a second look. 

“What did you just do?” She asked now, alarmed. 

“If you do not pick up that bun, no one else will be able to move it from that spot on the bench, creating a great mystery that would result in thousands of muggles coming to this precise spot to attempt to remove that Chelsea bun. I suspect they’ll rename this street Chelsea Alley, or something as equally heinous, and the Leaky Cauldron will be forced to close their doors in fear of discovery because of the new concentration of muggles coming to this location. They will all get in line, hoping to one day be the person who can pick up the bun in order to declare themselves King or Queen of the Bun. Of course, no one will be ever be able to do it, because there is only one true master of the bun. But, unfortunately, that Queen of the Bun is the most _stubborn witch_ the world has ever seen.” 

Hermione stared at him as if he had three heads. His words made him sound like he was joking, but the look on his face the completely serious. Since when did Draco Malfoy joke with her?

“Oh, don’t look at me like that Granger. Just take the fucking bun.” 

“Aren’t you on probation?” she asked, a bit dazed.

“Obviously. I’m allowed magic, I’m just being monitored. I’m also required to complete my last year of school and three years of Ministry service after I graduate.” 

She stared. The words _‘why are you telling me this’_ were about to slip out of her mouth before she changed her mind, so she made a silent decision instead. She picked up the silver wrapper, and slowly freed the bun and unwrapped the fork as she stood. 

“Thank you for the bun, Malfoy,” she said, straightening, and brushing her mid-length dress free of wrinkles with her free hand, “I really have to be going. It’s been… charming.” 

Malfoy stood, his black robes sweeping around him, and he took a step forward like he was going to follow her.

She started towards the apparition point just around the corner of the Leaky Cauldron.

“Wait, Granger! You can’t just take my offering and not answer my question.”

She stopped right before she stepped into the street but didn’t turn towards him.

“Why not? Why would you care for the reasons a _mudblood_ testified for lenient sentencing?” She let out with venom, her voice low. She wasn't even angry, but somehow the words relieved some of the pressure on her chest. 

He made a quiet strangled sound, one that she was sure wasn’t meant to reach her ears, “Please just answer.” 

Hermione took a bite of the bun. It really was just as lovely as it smelled, all cinnamon and fluffy goodness. And he was right, it was very sweet. She wondered idly if she should have tested it for poisoning or enchantment. She couldn’t really find it in herself to care even if it was. 

She chewed for a moment before turning towards him. He was staring at her, and for once his mask looked like it was down. His cheeks were slightly flushed, bringing some life back into his face, but he was clearly just as affected by the war as she was. He was perhaps even thinner now that he had been at the end of the war. He had the makings what looked like several days without shaving, and his hair, which had usually been slick back, now fell with a gentle part, just a few wisps of blonde hair in his eyes. Standing at full height, he clearly towered over her now, but his shoulders were concave. 

He, for once, looked nothing like his father. He looked more like a man who had just been through hell. 

She could relate. 

“Perhaps I thought that there was a better man underneath all the insults, Malfoy. And perhaps, I believe that we all deserve a second chance.” 

His mouth fell open, and then closed. 

“See you at Hogwarts. McGonagall made me Head Girl. So, behave yourself this year, Malfoy. Without Harry and Ron, you Slytherins may have a chance of winning the house cup,” she whipped away from him, stepping into the street to quickly stroll to the apparition point.

She was just mid-apparition, when she heard him call after her from across the street.

“Likewise, Granger. As Head Boy, I look forward to ensuring the best house wins-“ her ears popped painfully and she tried not to squeeze her pastry too hard as she landed just inside the lobby of the Ministry.

Head Boy.

What _was_ McGonagall thinking? 


	2. Hermione Granger: A Work In Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for taking so long to update.

“What utter rubbish!” Hermione crowed, holding her folk in her fist as if she were brandishing a sword, “Who does this man think he is? Does he even know who he sounds like? _Orion Burdock,”_ his name came out like a curse. 

Harry looked sleepily up at her from over his generous helping of eggs, his hair making him look somewhere firmly between ‘electrocuted’ and ‘mad-scientist.’ Ron, surprisingly, looked particularly well rested and was scooping as many eggs into his mouth as he could. 

“What are you on about?” Ginny asked, her eyes looking suspiciously puffy, although she had done her makeup which was a rarity over the summer holiday. As she leaned forward to sip on a spoonful of porridge, a red mark was noticeable on her neck from between the folds of her hair. 

Ron echoed her question from around his mouthful of eggs, sounding something like _“Hmphfy?”_

Hermione just shot them all an exasperated look before sliding the front page of _The Prophet_ underneath their noses. The group leaned forward as they took in the moving picture of a handsome, dark haired man as he spoke at a meeting for the coalition dedicated to rebuilding government after the war. _Coalition for the Recovery of Britain’s Wizarding Community,_ they were calling it. While Kingsley, the newly elected Minister of Magic, was obviously in attendance, the focus of the article had been remarkably away from him. In fact, she could see him scowling behind the shoulder of one of the members of the crowd as the man standing before the podium brandished his wand for emphasis, sparks shooting out over the crowd. Many in the crowd were nodding in agreement to whatever he was saying. 

Molly Weasley returned to the kitchen at that moment, brushing her dirt covered hands over her self-cleaning apron, clearly just finishing the mornings garden chores, “What are you lot gawking at?”

She approached Ginny, placing a hand on her shoulder as she examined the paper before them which caused the young witch to immediately stiffen. A part of Hermione ached at that, but she had leaned to push her jealousy back after a full summer of watching Molly dote over her children. 

_“Orion Burdock, appointed Chancellor for the Coalition for the Recovery of Britain’s Wizarding Community, gave a rousing speech at Friday’s meeting which was met with overwhelmingly positive reviews. ‘England has reached a new era. The country has been marked deeply by the second wizarding war in only thirty years. This has shown us something, something that is deniable by none of us. There needs to be change. This new era, the upcoming millennia, needs to be marked by change that will positively affect our waning wizarding community. Britain was once home to one of the largest wizarding communities in the world, but war has ravaged our numbers. Now, more than ever, it is easy for us to fade into the black to be forgotten by the world who did not want us. But no more! No more will we fade into darkness! No, now is the time that we must unite! We must unite and reveal ourselves to the world as a united whole-,”_ Ginny read out loud, drowning out the end of the paragraph with a long whistle. 

“Oh, don’t bother with that rubbish. He is just one of the many who are grappling for power. The same thing happened before, dears, and it all worked out. Just you wait,” Molly rolled her eyes, and waved her wand, sending empty plates to the sink that was already filling with sudsy water. 

“Mum, he’s Chancellor for this Coalition. He’s not just something trying to gain power, he _has_ power,” Ron spoke up then, having swallowed his eggs. 

Harry was still frowning down at the paper, having picked it up and turning the page to read the rest of the article, “Mrs. Weasley, what does Kingsley think about all this?” 

“The Minister’s thoughts about some foolish _Chancellor_ are of no concern of yours, boys,” the pair of them bristled at her words despite themselves. “Now, finish your meals. It’s nearly half past nine, and the girls have a train to catch,” Molly ordered, stripping off her apron, and pushing some of her red hair out of her face before munching on her own piece of toast. She seemed a bit breathless, her cheeks a bit red. 

Hermione looked at Ginny questioningly, but the red-headed girl just shook her head before returning to her porridge.

“He sounds an awful lot like Grindelwald,” Hermione finally mentioned after a careful bite of her sausage. This had been the point she had been trying to come to all along, but it seemed that the others had not picked that up.

Harry finally put the paper down, and rubbed his eyes with a spare hand, “He does, doesn’t he? Reveal ourselves? I want to know what his motives are. This could be Grindelwald propaganda, except for the lack of that _For the Greater Good_ , nonsense. Seems he’s going for more a ‘ _united_ ’ kind of message-” 

“Well, perhaps you and Ronald will be investigating such things with your new jobs with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, hmm?” Molly interrupted, and her voice was a bit thick. She turned away from them.

Harry and Hermione looked at each with similar looks of panic. Ron and Ginny just exchanged solemn glances. Spirits around the Weasley household had waxed and waned throughout the summer. George had returned from the flat in the Diagon Alley he had shared with Fred, and some days he joined them all the table and some days he did not leave his room. Fred’s chair was always, without exception, left empty. It seemed some mornings George could not bring himself to look at the place where his brother had once sat beside him. He had taken Charlie’s old room to avoid looking at the bed his brother had once slept in. 

Molly, had tried to keep it together, but there were bad days. Sometimes they came out of nowhere, some days they came with warning. With Arthur Weasley already having gone to work that morning, they were in dangerous grounds if Molly was having one of her bad days. 

Ronald kicked Ginny under the table, which she skillfully dodged with a turn of her legs, and simply glared at him, mouthing the words ‘ _No, you!’_

After an awkward moment, in which Harry sneakily stuffed Hermione’s copy of _The Prophet_ into his robe pocket, Ron cleared his throat, standing from the table.

He approached his mother carefully, as if she were an animal he didn’t want to scare away, “Mum, are you-“

Molly Weasley let out a mournful wail, turning to pull her youngest son into her arms. It was comical, to someone who lived outside of this world that had become their own, but Hermione could hardly look at them. Seeing Molly cry was one of the worst things she had ever seen, she had decided after the second time it had happened that summer. 

Ron just pulled his mum close to him, putting his chin on top of her head as he was nearly a foot taller than his mother now. Ginny just looked down at her plate and Hermione didn’t miss her shaking hands before she had put her silverware down and hid her hands in her lap. Harry just swallowed hard and pulling one of Ginny’s hands into his lap. 

Hermione wondered if she should be doing something, but the only thing she could do to keep from throwing herself down a dark road that she knew she wouldn’t return from, was stare at her plate and count her breaths. God, how she wished she could hold her mum. She knew that was the most selfish thing she could be thinking at this moment, but it didn’t stop her from thinking it. 

Ron pat Mrs. Weasley on the back, looking at Harry with a mournful expression, “Mum, do you want to talk about it?”

_Hmm._ Maybe dating Hermione had taught him something after all. The Ronald Weasley from a year ago certainly wouldn’t be asking his mother if she wanted to talk about why she was crying. 

“I just-“ Molly blubbered, furiously wiping at her face with a napkin she had stolen off the table, “Ginny is my last child to go to Hogwarts, and I thought we would have-,” Whatever she was about to say was cut off with a sob, and Ron pat her arm awkwardly. 

When Mrs. Weasley caught her breath, she dabbed her eyes carefully, and Ginny got up and hugged her mother from the other side. Harry moved to sit next to Hermione. She avoided his eyes. 

“I thought we would have more time. For a great many things,” Molly said finally, patting Ginny gently on the cheek, “Don’t be upset, dear. I’m quite excited for you to go off and be who you are supposed to become. Sometimes tears don’t have reason.” 

“It’s okay, Mum. I know,” Ginny said quietly.

Molly sighed, “I wish your father was able to get off today. Alas, it was not meant to be,” she dabbed her eyes a few more times, “Alright. Well, we have wasted enough time. Go get your things, girls. It’s time to go! And boys, don’t you think it’s time you left?”

Hermione and Ginny looked at each other in confusion, “Aren’t they coming to see us off?” Hermione managed delicately. 

Molly had already moved out of the kitchen and was furiously wiping at the family clock with her tear-soaked napkin. Hermione and Harry had been added to the clock, seeming to have been permanently adopted by the Weasley’s after the war, and each of their respective hands were pointing at _home_. Mr. Weasley had even added a location by the name of _12 Grimmauld Place,_ in which Harry and Ron had been living at when they weren’t staying at the Burrow with Ginny and Hermione. Ginny, Molly and George’s hands all pointed at _home_ as well. Mr. Weasley’s pointed towards _home_ , and Bill and Charles’s hands, which Mr. Weasley had charmed to work even outside of the country, were both pointing towards _work_ as well. The remaining hand was the reason Mrs. Weasley kept coming back to scrub firmly at the clockface. Fred’s key, with his smiling face sparkling out from the surface, was firmly placed in the middle of the category Hermione had never seen until now. _Lost._

George had thrown a fit when he first saw the key, trying to break the glass and rip off the hand himself, but Ron and Mr. Weasley had managed to pull him back upstairs before he could do any damage. Mrs. Weasley seemed to return to the clock, sometimes randomly throughout the day, as if she hoped if the clock was sparkling that Fred’s key would move back to something, anything else. 

Ron came to stand behind Hermione, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back, “See, that was the plan but then Morton sent us a letter last night and we-“

“We have to work. They told us late last night. I’m sorry,” Harry interrupted Ron’s nervous ramble. 

“I wanted to see you off,” Ron spoke quietly behind her. 

Ginny didn’t say a word, but simply pulled Harry into the pantry. 

Hermione and Ron just looked at each other, a small smirk on her face and him shaking his head, “Oi! Keep your hands to yourselves!” he called after them as the door snapped shut. 

Ron smiled at her then, his nose crinkling in the way it did when his smile was genuine and pulled her into his arms, “Does that mean we have to keep our hands to ourselves too?”

Hermione laughed quietly, something aching in her chest. He hugged her close to him, burying his nose into her hair. Something didn’t feel quite right. It wasn’t quite the way it had been before. She wondered if he felt it too, felt the space between them both. She hugged him back, gently, but not in the way she would have gripped him months ago. 

When he sighed, letting her go without so much as slipping his hands over her waist, she knew he felt it too. 

She just looked up at him, his face nearly a foot higher than her own. She reached up, touching his cheek gently with her hand. 

A moment just passed, when she looked at him sadly, letting every broken part of her soul, every inch of her that was drowning reflect into his eyes. And he just looked back at her, his eyes quiet back.

“Do you feel it too?” he spoke suddenly, his voice hoarse. Unsure. 

She let her hand drop from his face, looking down at his feet. She opened her mouth, trying to find some words that would show him her insides.

“If you do, feel it… or, not feel it. It would be okay, ‘Mione.”

Her eyes snapped up to his, promptly filling up with tears despite herself, “I’m so sorry, Ron.” With those words, her soul was a puddle on the floor at his feet. 

She fought to catch her breath, pushing her tears back so that she could get her voice to cooperate with her, “It’s not you, Ron. I just… I feel so dark. I’m in such a dark place, sometimes. I know you are too, but not like am. You have your parents, your brothers and sisters. I know I do too, but… sometimes I can’t pull myself out. I can’t find any space in my heart to feel. I can’t find any space in my soul to _want._ Do you know what I mean?” 

Ron just looked at her. There was a quiet thump from the pantry behind them, but they both ignored it. 

“I feel like I can’t _breathe._ All the time. I thought I knew what I wanted out of life. I thought I wanted marriage, and children and a home like the one you grew up in. Like the one I grew up in.” She sobbed, tears falling freely down her face now, “But I can’t imagine doing this now. Not after everything we saw. Not with nightmares every night, seeing _her_ face every time I close my eyes. I can’t bring children into a world where I’m not sure they wouldn’t be prosecuted for my blood.” 

His eyes hardened, “We would never let that happen, never-“ 

“Ronald. I know. It’s not you. You’re so full of life. I’m… not,” she finished, wrapping her arms around herself as she tried to keep it together. 

He stared at her, his misery apparent in the set of his mouth, “It’s okay. Really. I’m not surprised. You haven’t been present in a while. In your kiss. In your touch. Even in the way you look at me. It’s not the way you used to look at me. You know, like I was your hero.”

“I’m so _sorry-“_

_“Please,_ Hermione. Let me finish,” his voice was harsh, but his eyes were kind.

She gasped a breath, trying to keep under control. So much for the mascara she put on this morning. This was not was way she imagined her morning to go. 

“Harry and I, we are trying to find where we fit in. In fact, I’m certain that he knows exactly where he is supposed to fit into the world, and while I’m still trying to figure it out for myself, I still know I have it better figured than you. Do you know what you said in your sleep the other night?” Ron was watching her carefully, his voice now soft. 

“You said, ‘I don’t want to be a witch anymore.’” 

She covered her mouth with a hand, trying to push the sob back into her mouth. 

“I know you need to find yourself, Hermione. And I’m not sure that you’ll find yourself if you keep stringing me along.” 

“I wasn’t trying to string you-“

“I know. _I know_ ,” he reached forward, gripping her face in his large hands with a gentleness, “I love you, Hermione Granger. I will always love you. I will _always_ be your best friend. And, if you need to find yourself, then I will do whatever I can to help you along that way. Even if it means I need to back off.” 

“I love you too, Ron. I don’t deserve you,” she managed to say, brokenly. 

“On the contrary, Hermione. I think it is more likely the world doesn’t deserve you. You’re much too good for it,” His voice was thick, and his eyes were shining. With that, he pulled her back into his arms, but his embrace was different this time. More friendly. 

More like it used to be before.

Could people who dated go back to being friends? She would have said no, before but… if it meant she got to keep him, she would take it. She hugged him back, burying her face into the black part of his robes, praying that her tears wouldn’t stain it before he left for work. 

Harry and Ginny emerged then from the pantry, Ginny’s hair slightly ruffled, and Harry’s cheeks more of a cherry red than a pink. They stopped to watch Hermione and Ron, who eyes were probably both noticeably red and shiny after their conversation. 

“Right,” Hermione managed, straightening out her shirt, “We really ought to be going, Gin.” 

Before she could stumble towards the steps, where her belongings were waiting for her to shrink them, she was pulled into a hug. 

“Harry,” she said fondly, embracing him tightly, breathing in his familiar scent. The closest thing to a brother that she had ever had. 

She pulled back from him to see Ginny sending Ron a questioning look as she hugged her brother as well.

“Well. Boys. Best of luck on your day today. I know it’s not your first day, but be careful. The world wouldn’t know what to do if it’s Golden Trio was down to a Golden Duo, and certainly not a Golden Girl,” she spoke clearly then. Harry’s green eyes were examining her carefully.

“Are you sure you want to go back to school? You could have any job you wanted. It’s amazing how an Order of Merlin First Class will do that for you,” Harry teased her. 

“What kind of question is that?” Ronald chuckled quietly, “Clearly, she’s returning for the sole reason of unlimited library access. Don’t you know that’s why McGonagall gave her Head Girl?” He cut his voice down to a whisper, “Rumor is, she was worried Hermione wouldn’t want to return… then _Ginny_ would have had to be Head girl. Horror, really.” 

“Ah, right. I’m sure that’s the only reason she was given Head Girl. Library access. Nothing to do with the service for her school, or the fact that she’s a war hero, or her ranking of first in our class-“

Ginny interrupted then, raising her eyebrows playfully, “Did you two hear who McGonagall made Head Boy? You two are not going to believe it.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows in question, and Ron shook his head. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell them, Hermione. You were gripping about it for nearly a day after you found out.”

“Honestly, slipped my mind,” and it had. She had started a particularly interesting book regarding the history of Prefects, with a list of remarkable Prefects of Hogwarts and what they went on to do after school. Percy had gotten her onto it. 

“Draco Malfoy. The Pureblood Prince himself,” Ginny whispered, leaning towards the boys.

“WHAT?” Ron boomed.

Harry just blinked at the information.

“What is McGonagall thinking?” Ron roared, already starting to pace.

“Interesting. Didn’t you receive your badge before the trail?” 

“Yes. I got it in the letter I received from McGonagall immediately after I told her I wished to return.” 

“Did she mention, in this letter, that she had already selected a Head Boy?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” she blinked at this information. “She said she had just selected Head Boy, and that she was looking forward to a productive year from the two of us. She had an extra emphasis on ‘unity’ and ‘open-mindedness.’ I thought she was talking about classes… and trying to encourage less fighting between the houses. I guess it makes more sense now.” She was a little sheepish as she spoke. It wasn’t like her to miss these things. 

“Good Godric,” Ron stopped, running his hand through his hair. Harry and Ron shared a look that Hermione couldn’t decipher, “Just… let us know if you have any issues. Any at all. Owl us. And, I promise we will be in to visit as much as McGonagall allows us.” 

Harry looked pointedly at his clock, “Alright. We really do have to be going.”

“Us too,” Ginny smiled and pulled Harry for another kiss. Ron gagged pointedly behind their back, but Ginny send him a profane gesture from Harry’s back. Hermione giggled. Ron beamed at her, and she blushed as she realized that was one of the few genuine laughs she had had this summer. 

Harry pulled back, forcibly placing Ginny out of his reach with a grin. It warmed her heart to see him so happy after so long. 

“Remember ladies. A nice, calm, uneventful year of Hogwarts,” he grinned at them both then. 

“Always,” Hermione grinned back. 

* * *

Molly sniffled as they apparated to the train station, Ginny and Hermione feeling remarkably light as Hermione had transfixed all their bags to be small enough to fit into their jacket pockets. Hermione was clutching a small, blanket covered cage in which Crookshanks was yowling at a low pitch. Ginny was carrying a cage with had a similar blanket over the outside, but it carried her newest pet, a beautiful black-banded owl which Harry had gifted her for her birthday a few weeks ago. 

This was the first time Hermione had been at the train station without her parents. She didn’t think it would bother her, but she felt her heart pounding in her chest as she remembered the way her parents had stared in awe as they entered platform 9 ¾ for the first time. Ginny seemed to sense her discomfort and squeezed her hand encouragingly. 

“Promise to write a few times a week. I’ll be anxiously awaiting to hear from you. You too, Hermione dear. And behave yourself Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley fretted.

“Mum, I’m a _prefect_!”

“That doesn’t mean I had no less than three letters two years ago about you being found in various broom closets throughout the castle-,“ she wacked Ginny gently with her handkerchief.

“Mum, I have Harry now-“

Hermione just smiled, waving at them both as she headed towards the train station before her panic overwhelmed her. 

“See you in the prefect compartment, 1 pm sharp, Gin!”

Ginny nodded halfheartedly as she bickered with her mother. 

Hermione swept her eyes across the train station, absolutely dripping with magical folk and muggles a-like. The muggles were easy to pick out, many of them dressed in their Sunday best as though this was a sporting event. They stood stiffly while their children looked at their surroundings with an even mixture of excitement and nervousness. A few of them glanced her way but looked away quickly. She smiled to those who made eye contact with her encouragingly, but she felt many more eyes on her from every side.

_“There she is-“_

_“I heard she’s engaged to that Weasley boy…”_

_“Do you think the other two are here?”_

_“I don’t see a ring?”_

She ignored the thinly veiled whispers, still not used to the attention. She had spent her school years as the best friend of Harry Potter, so she was used to some attention… but nothing like this. She had ordered chocolate chip peppermint ice cream at Fortescue’s two weeks ago and had apparently created a shortage of that particular flavor of ice cream across muggle and wizarding England after Skeeter wrote an article about the ‘trend-setting Golden Girl.’ 

Her plum-colored scarf, hand-knitted by her mother, had also sparked attention. She noticed more than one set of plum robes in the crowd before her. _Ridiculous._ There had even been a few comments along the lines of ‘ _wanna-be Wizengamot,’_ after a photo of her in a bookshop in Diagon Alley had surfaces under _Witch Weekly’s_ ‘Most Trendy Witches’ column. 

She avoided the gaze of the crowd, climbing up the stairs of the car nearest her, and searching for an empty compartment to get changed into her robes and settle into with a book. It seemed the first car she had climbed into was already full, and glancing at her watch she realized she had arrived much later than her usual. So, she headed down the train from car to car until she reached a compartment full of familiar faces – and not friendly ones.

“Sorry, just looking for an empty- Oh!” she stopped in her tracks as she took in the familiar gazes before her. Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were all looking at her with mildly curious gazes as they were interrupted from what looked like the beginnings of a game of exploding snap. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt… well. B-bye!” She stammered. Every sneer from Blaise Zabini was currently playing on repeat on her mind, accompanied by every comment about her hair or her teeth from Pansy and the gaunt look on Nott senior’s face as she sat in at his trial. 

She closed the compartment behind her with a slam, wondering why her heart was suddenly beating so hard in her chest. She took a shuttering breath and turned down the hallway to the next compartment.

Before she could take a step, she heard the door she had just slammed behind her slide back open. She slowly turned to see Pansy Parkinson standing in the doorway. Her face was pinched, perhaps paler than usual, but her black shear hair was immaculate as always. She extended a letter with a beautifully manicured set of nails towards Hermione.

“Draco left this for you, Granger. He wanted me to give it to you in the prefect compartment, but I suppose now is fine.”

“For me?” Hermione wondered, taking the parchment from Pansy. It had been sealed with a bit of silver wax, the Malfoy emblem, a dragon curling delicately around the letter M, pressed into the wax.

Pansy rolled her eyes, “Yes, Granger. As Head Boy, it seems he needs to correspond with you occasionally.” 

And with that, Pansy turned and closed the door behind her. 

Hermione frowned at the door, before opening the carefully folded piece of parchment to examine the note. She wasn’t sure if she expected a crude drawling of her laying bleeding on the ground, or simply a letter full of profanities. Surprisingly, she found neither.

_Granger,_

_Unfortunately, I will be unable to attend the annual meeting with prefects on the train due to the terms of my probation. I apologize for any inconvenience. As I am sure you would like to discuss rounding routes for the year, I have attached my suggestion based of my knowledge of castle. We can discuss assignments for rounding at a later date. It should be simple with the thirty-one prefects under our roster._

_I also have suggestions for which prefects should be assigned to lead first years back to their houses. I am unsure of Hufflepuff, so if you have suggestions, I trust your judgement. Once we receive our class schedules in the morning tomorrow, I would be available to discuss with you the rounding schedule and prefect meeting schedule._

_The best way to contact me is by owl._

_D. Malfoy_

She read the letter with some shock. He apologizes for any inconvenience? And he sent her _suggestions._

She pulled the next paper out from behind the letter, and her mouth fell open. Not only had he created a list of all the prefects, he had written simple notes about each prefect on the list.

_Hannah Abbott – 8 th year. Hufflepuff. Missed all of 6th year after mother was found deceased. _

_Luna Lovegood – 7 th year. Ravenclaw. A bit loose in the head, but exceptionally kind._

_Anthony Goldstein – 8 th year. Ravenclaw. Friend of Terry Boot and Michael Corner. _

_Timothy Harring – 7 th year. Gryffindor._ _Tends to be trouble, but excellent with the young ones._

And so on. For all thirty-one prefects.

The next page of parchment was simple- a list with place for four names. Three spots had already been filled out: Luna Lovegood (R), Timothy Harring (G), Astoria Greengrass (S) and a blank space with the letter (H) beside it. Underneath that mark was her name: _Ask Granger?_

What the hell? 

The last page was a detailed map of Hogwarts castle, the parchment bewitched to allow her to look throughout each corner of the castle. There was red shading in areas that were off limits, and she discovered each meaning was color coded- with a simple key on the side. Red for off limits. Yellow for curfew based. Green for free regardless of hour. Blue for areas that could be reserved with special permission and… so on. There was a detailed web of lines, which as she examined the map, she learned were possible routes for rounding. There were notes in the margin around areas that were particularly known for troublemakers – favorite broom closets, secret rooms and passageways.

Exceptional really. Beautiful magic, neat and succinct. 

As she stared at the paperwork, a feeling she had scarcely felt overwhelmed her: she felt _underprepared._

She stared at the parchment until a girl coughed uncomfortably behind her, “Excuse me, can I get through if you’re not going into a compartment?” 

“Oh, yes. Sorry,” she let the girl pass, and stuffed the letter into her pockets. Clearly, Hannah Abbott was the best choice to lead the first years to the common rooms. She was well-spoken, but quiet and kind. Hermione suspected she would do a fine job and wouldn’t complain too much about the assignment. She couldn’t really argue with the other selections. She didn’t know Timothy Harring, or Astoria Greengrass so… she supposed she had to trust his judgement. Luna was a lovely choice, a bit odd as they all knew, but it went well the spirit of the first night at Hogwarts. She mentally noted herself to ask Ginny about Timothy and Astoria. 

Lost in thought, she went compartment to compartment, disappointed to find them all full. She felt the gentle lurch of the train pulling from the station beneath her feet. Thankfully, when she was left with only the last car, she reached a compartment and saw kind faces.

“Neville! Luna!” she grinned, “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Of course not!” Neville boomed, and Hermione blinked as she noticed the girl peaking out from underneath his arm. Hannah. Lovely, they would make a beautiful couple. 

“Hello, Hannah,” she smiled kindly at the girl and was glad to see that the blonde smiled back. 

Luna peaked out from underneath her tulip shaped glasses, a dreamy smile on her face, “Hello, Hermione. I do hope you had a lovely summer.”

“Oh, yes. It was nice,” Hermione said feebly, settling into her seat next to the girl. The door slammed open next, and Ginny slipped into the compartment. Ginny sighed as she settled into the seat next to Neville after settling her owl next to Crookshank’s cage, who yowled loudly in protest. 

“Good _god_ that woman can be a bit much. I didn’t think she was going to let me on the train, I swear to Godric,” she moaned, and stretched her legs out. “Hello everyone. Lovely to see you.” 

“Hi, Ginny,” a chorus of greetings were called. 

And that was that. Hermione may have felt two male sized holes at her side, but she quickly discovered that those holes were easily filled with her other friends. She missed her book but was happy to notice she enjoyed their conversation more. Ginny, who she had become close to over the summer, was a constant. Neville, she was pleased to discover had grown well into his new fame and carried himself with a new confidence. Hannah was shy as ever, but sweet and well-spoken. Luna hadn’t changed a bit. As they briefly discussed their summer, the girls ganged up on Neville as time drew by to kick him out of the carriage as they slipped into their robes. When Neville returned, he was wearing his robes as well, and they all enjoyed a quick lunch from the trolley. When it was a quarter until one, Hermione gathered up her prefects and the four girls headed to the special prefect compartment which was only a train car away. 

“How well do you think you and Draco will be working together?” Luna asked quite suddenly, just before they reached the door to the compartment, “I don’t think he likes you much.” 

Hermione just laughed, a bit awkward, “Well, I hope we can get past our differences so that we can have a good school year.”

“Have you seen him yet?” Ginny asked her, glancing at the letters in Hermione’s hands.

“No, no. Just once after the trial- but he sent me a letter. He is unable to make the meeting so you all will see him for the feast tonight and I suppose for the first prefect meeting. Once we figure out when we should do that…”

Ginny grabbed the letter out of Hermione’s hand faster than she could react, and she was reminded quite sharply that Ginny was in fact raised in a house full of boys. 

“Wow, Hermione. I think he might actually rival you on this one.”

“Excuse me?” she sniffed, trying to snatch the letters back out of Ginny’s hands. 

“Look at this- _Ginny Weasley. 7 th year. Gryffindor. Potter’s girlfriend. A bit loud-mouthed, but well-spoken and humorous when need be. _You say Malfoy wrote this?” she was laughing, raising an eyebrow as she handed the letters back to Hermione finally. “I’m just saying, this is a Hermione level of dedication. Maybe he’s trying to show you up this year.” 

“I’m sure he’s just anxious to get the school year started,” Hermione scowled, “Besides, the marauders had the whole castle mapped out after fourth year. He’s an 8th year, just like myself… his work _should_ be remarkable.” 

Ginny just smirked, and Luna seemed to be examining the handle to the room carefully.

“Oh! Wait, Ginny I wanted to ask you. He gave some suggestions for the prefects who would be best to lead the first years back to the common- “

“So… are we going in? Or do we just watch Lovegood stare at nothing for the entire meeting?” A high-pitched voice called behind them, and Hermione frowned at Pansy as she approached with a tall, dark haired girl. She was quite pretty, all legs and flowing chocolate hair. Her eyes were a startling blue. One of the other Slytherin prefects then… Astoria Greengrass? Or was she Mariette Pischer? 

The girl turned her eyes to look at Pansy with a look that may have been reproach, and stepped forward, reaching out a manicured hand. What was with these Slytherin’s and their nail care?

“Hello! You must be Hermione Granger. My name is Astoria Greengrass. I do not think we have officially met. I’m your 6th year Slytherin prefect,” she gave Hermione a dazzling smile. Could brunettes be part-veela? That was the only other time Hermione had ever really felt quite as threatened and uncomfortable when shaking hands with another woman. 

“Hello, Astoria. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hermione echoed, and even to her own mind her words sounded like a lie. 

Pansy just rolled her eyes and stepped around them to enter the room, and Astoria nodded and smiled at Ginny and Luna before she ducked in behind Pansy. “It’s lovely to see you again, Ginny, Luna.”

Hermione looked at the other two girls.

“She’s always like that, before you ask. All dazzling super-model and daisies,” Ginny said quietly. 

“She’s always been kind to me,” Luna added. 

“She’s a snake. Don’t trust her, Luna,” Ginny muttered before heading into the room.

“You know, it’s odd. Snake’s have always been nice enough to me, perhaps a bit private but they mind their own. Unless you provoke them, of course,” Luna said before she entered as well, leaving Hermione in the hallway trying to catch her bearings. 

If she was ‘brightest witch of her age’, the ‘golden girl’ why did she feel so unsure of herself? She brushed her hands over her new robes, recently bought as all her old cloths no longer fit over her hips and chest. While she was certainly no Astoria Greengrass, she was thankful her feminine features had finally grown out. Her teeth were straight enough, now, and her hair while still absurdly curled, was pulled into a soft half-pony, the brown locks more calm ringlets as opposed to the frizzy curls of her younger years. She wore simple makeup, with encouragement from Ginny – mascara, blush and some concealer for the circles under her eyes. Some pink lip gloss to make her lips feel fuller.

Her looks had always been the hard part of her to master – always the girl with knobby knees, flat chest, buck teeth, frizzy hair. Now, she had that under control – and her mind was still the same, right? 

Why did she feel so god-damn… nervous? 

Sighing, and taking a few breaths to calm herself, she set a small smile on her face and entered the room. 

Hermione Granger, work in progress extraordinaire, was now at their service.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors. #foreverbetaless
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> P.S. I promise this is eventually Dramione... and I'm sorry if I disappointed for the lack of Ron bashing. He was a lovely character in the book, and he deserves growth just like the rest of them.


	3. Azrael and Charmeine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp! An update! If anyone is out there, I hope are enjoying it.

When Hermione entered the compartment, there were a few nervous faces from the youngest of them but the six and seventh years seemed… worn. Hardy. Like they had weathered a storm, and whatever came this year could be no worse than what they had experienced in the previous year in which Hermione had been painfully, undeniably absent. Looking over their faces, at the group spread out across the room, Hermione never felt more alone. Separate, disconnected. Unbelonging. Like a stranger entering a room in which she wasn’t invited. She told herself this was a ridiculous feeling, unsubstantiated and yet… the feeling remained. 

The lines between the houses seemed to have thinned more than Hermione could have imagined. Luna, Hannah and Ginny were gathered in one corner, and many of the other students seemed to have taken their example of friendship. A Hufflepuff girl was holding hands with a Ravenclaw boy, and one of the younger Gryffindor prefects had been whispering so furiously in the ear of a Ravenclaw girl that Hermione had to clear her throat to grip their attention as the rest of the group settled. The only ones who seemed isolated from the group, like Hermione, were the Slytherins. They did not sneer, except for Pansy (although Hermione wasn’t sure if her face was permanently stuck like that). Astoria and a blonde Slytherin girl stood in front of the rest of their house in a stance that reminded Hermione of a dueling stance. Their arms were by their sides, their knees slightly bent, and their eyes watched Hermione carefully as she spoke to the crowd. Assertive, certainly but… almost defensive. Like they would defend their peers with their entire bodies. 

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, stood with her back straight and began.

“I will keep this meeting as short and painless as possible. To those of you who know me, I want to welcome you all back and tell you that it is wonderful to see you all again. To those of you who do not know me, or perhaps-“ a few of the Slytherins and even a few Ravenclaws seemed to roll their eyes at that comment, “have only ever heard of me, I want to introduce myself. My name is Hermione Granger. I am a returning seventh year student, although I suspect that we will be so dubbed ‘eighth year students’ even though we are just returning to finish our final-“ she realized she was rambling and caught herself. She tugged on her left sleeve of her new shirt, a self-conscious gesture she had picked up over the summer, “Anyway, I want to say hello. I am going to be your Head Girl for this year, along with my co-head, Draco Malfoy,” here were a few gasps from those in the group who had yet to hear the news of who their headboy would be.

“Draco and I,” his vowels of his name fell strangely in her mouth, “have been working quite hard this summer to make sure this school year occurs without many kinks. As you may have noticed with the returning of seventh year students like me, there are more of us than usual, which is good news for us all. It means a more relaxed patrol schedule and less common room posts for all of us. We are still working out the patrol schedule, but you will receive a copy of the schedule sometime tomorrow. Malfoy-“ she paused, “I mean, Draco and I will be patrolling for the first two nights as is traditional as Head’s so you do not have to worry about your schedule until Thursday. On that schedule will be our first prefect meeting date as well. Just a reminder, these meetings are mandatory so if you cannot attend please send an owl to one of your Heads so that we can plan appropriately.”

Her voice had lost the shakiness she had begun with, and she stopped pulling at her left sleeve to rest her arms at her side. She looked at the room, at the witches and wizards that helped keep her home out of chaos, and many of whom who had fought side by side last year. 

“Lastly, I want to say… thank you for coming back to Hogwarts. I know that last year was immeasurably terribly for all of us, and I am sorry I was not here with you to help,” she felt her throat go tight, the waters lapping at her heels, but she continued nonetheless, “Be kind to one another. The last year has been the worst year of many of our lives, and at the end of the day the same magic runs through all of us. Our blood, be it ‘muddy’-,”a blonde haired Ravenclaw boy growled, “or ‘pure’, is all red when we bleed. There is a lot of fear that remains in all of us, concerning what could have been or what was but there is one theme we need to be examples of for the entire school: Forgiveness. Progress is irrevocably defined as the motion of going forward. If we fall into the same patterns that we once belonged, the progress that has been painfully wrought this year will cease to be. So, as a group I have one ask. When we are together in this group, only once a month… Forget the colors on your badges. Forget the colors of your robes, your ties, your house. Here, we are all just humans.” 

Hermione looked over the group, feeling a bit silly but she kept the set of her lips serious. Astoria looked at her with a small smile, one that made her eyes shine like sapphires, and the Slytherin girl standing with her nodded her head in Hermione’s direction. Many of the Hufflepuffs were grinning and clapping lightly, while many of the Ravenclaws looked at her with a mixture of amusement and apathy. 

“Here, here!” Ginny catcalled from across the room, a grin on her face that reminded Hermione sharply of Ron. Luna was smiling at her as well, her hands pressed together in front of her in a gesture that was at once strange and friendly. 

“Are you planning a run for Minister, Granger?” Pansy crowed, and Hermione blushed at once glancing at the dark-haired girl. Pansy’s sneer was, for once, gone. She had teased Hermione, but as she met eyes with the girl, there was a thin smile on her red lips that made her face look… lovely. Perhaps she needed to smile more. 

“No, no. No political aspirations here,” Hermione laughed quietly, tucking a stray curl behind one of her ears.

“Well, perhaps there should be,” Astoria’s musical voice was easily picked out over the chatter that erupted around them, “that was a rousing speech. I daresay even Draco would be impressed.”

Hermione tried to keep her face blank at that comment, but she was not sure her answering frown was missed. 

“Well, anyway. In the words of the lovely Delores Umbridge-“ Hermione joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, stuff it!”

A few of the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors had a competition of who could make the most convincing retching noises.

Hermione smirked, feeling as though maybe a little part of her was healing from just being around all the happiness around her, “ _I WILL have order!”_ she managed in her most disgustingly sweet voice. 

A few of the students around her howled in laughter, and those that weren’t laughing were grinning.

“Anyway! My point of this quote is that we are indeed Prefects, and therefore are expected to maintain the rules. Fifth years, you will receive a small rulebook that you are expected to know rather thoroughly. Inappropriate point deductions will be punished with an equal or large amount of point deduction for your own house, so do not play any games, please. As usual, no student is allowed in the Forbidden Forest unless accompanied by a chaperone. Students found out of bed after curfew will have points deducted or a detention issued depending on the severity of the offense. There will be a rotating schedule for detentions, so please do not send all your detentions to one teacher out of preference. Disruptions shall not be tolerated, and disrespect towards a professor-”

And she continued on.

And on.

“Hermione! Most of us have the book already,” Ginny interrupted her in a harsh whisper.

One of the Slytherin boys appeared to be drooling, and a Ravenclaw boy was staring quite obviously at her chest in his daydream. 

Hermione coughed. The boys both seemed to jump.

“I rescind my previous statement. I think you would make a rather convincing History of Magic professor,” Pansy muttered. 

Hermione ignored her. 

“Okay. That is all I have for now, then. Luna, Astoria, Hannah and Timothy-“

“Tim!” a sandy-haired Gryffindor boy corrected her, smiling at Hermione with disturbingly straight teeth, and stepping much closer than necessary. 

“Tim. Pleasure,” Hermione glanced at the group, “The rest of you are dismissed. You will receive your schedules as soon as possible.”

The group seemed to pause, looking at her.

“Oh, and, er- Welcome back.” 

As they began filing out, Luna came before her and appeared to be swatting at something Hermione couldn’t see above Tim’s head. He seemed flustered by this, and to Hermione’s relief stepped away from her. Astoria’s perfect face appeared next to the pair of them, and she smiled kindly at Luna while maintaining a short but safe distance away from the swatting. Hannah stood beside her, a small blush on her cheeks from being singled out from the group. 

“Yes, you four. You are assigned to lead the first years back to your respective common room,” Tim seemed to frown, and the brightness of Astoria’s eyes seemed to turn down slightly. 

“I’m sorry, I know it is not everyone’s favorite job, but I will ensure that you four are the last on the list for the rounding schedule,” Hermione added optimistically. 

“Oh, no problem,” Hannah smiled at her sweetly, “Thank you for picking us.” 

“Of course. You four are the best picks for the job,” that seemed to perk the two pouters back up. 

“First years are always lovely. They see our world with a pair of fresh eyes,” Luna smiled serenely. 

“Right, well. If you could just ensure everyone knows how to get to your common rooms and how to get into them respectively… it will make it much easier in those first weeks. Keeps your Head’s from getting dragged out of bed to help a first year back into their common room in the middle of the night. After you have shown them to the common room, just point them to their respective dormitory and bulletin board. Then your night is your own. As I said earlier, Draco and I will be taking first rounds so…”

“That ought to be delightfully strange,” said Luna, “New things often are, though strange doesn’t always have a bite.” 

Hermione didn’t know what that meant, but she supposed it sounded rather optimistic. Hermione smiled at the four of them and nodded, “You may leave. I’m just going to clean up in here for a moment. “ 

After a few kind nods, four of them strolled from the room and Hermione was again gloriously alone. She collapsed into the nearest chair and pulled her hair from her sweating neck. She may be a Gryffindor, but dear Merlin speaking to the group of them worked on her nerves. As she leaned her head forward into her hands, voices swirled around her.

_Silly mudblood… thought you were good enough for them? You do not even deserve to go to this school. It was made for real witches and wizards and you are nothing more than a worm beneath our feet. Are you sure they did not mix up your letter?_

She groaned, scratching at her scalp while she tried to push the raging bitch’s voice out of her mind. Why did McGonagall pick her? And why had she accepted? Why did she think she could just return this year, and pretend everything is the same? She felt so _heavy._

She hadn’t even stepped off the bloody train, had just preached to a group she barely knew about blood equality, and she was on the edge of a panic attack. She hadn’t even seen the castle yet, which she knew while repaired, was not without marks of war. Hagrid’s hut… the Great Hall… how could they all be how they were before? 

Taking a few shuttering breaths, she sat up and forced herself to feel the floor underneath her feet, rattling though it was. After a few seconds, the spots behind her eyes disappeared, and the voices that whispered her inadequacy once again faded into the fog of her mind.

She looked around the now empty compartment, and laughed a little at herself, “Have to clean up?” They were in the room for all of twenty minutes, and the floor was spotless. Not to mention she was sure the Hogwarts house elves attended to this train as well as the castle. 

“Good Godric,” she mumbled to herself, standing and heading to the door. A small blessing, that Malfoy didn’t yet have to see her stumbling through this entire situation. How she would survive this year, she didn’t know. Malfoy’s letter hadn’t seemed to be aware that they would be rounding together the first two nights. She supposed she could have thrown together the rounding schedule sometime this summer to prevent that… but if she was to admit it, she didn’t have the energy to think much about it. The lie about Malfoy and her working on the schedule together… no, that had been all him. And she would need to be more careful because she knew if she lied again like that Malfoy would not hesitate to throw it back in her face, Chelsea bun or not. Perhaps she would get lucky and he wouldn’t have to round with her due to the terms of his probation… but honestly, if that was true, she would not be happy with McGonagall. It wouldn’t make sense to give him the title, not that it really did in the first place, but _especially_ not if he could not even round properly. 

She brushed her shirt straight, straightened her shiny new Headgirl badge and pulled her skirt down from where it had ridden up. With another settling breath, she pulled the compartment door open and headed back towards her friends. 

* * *

Hermione was frozen, her heart in her throat as she stared at the creatures that were pulling the carriages she was to climb into on her last ride to Hogwarts. She knew in theory what thestrals were and she remembered Harry’s horror when he examined them for the first time. She also remembered the warm, leathery skin she had gripped in her terror as they carried her from Hogwarts to the Ministry in her sixth year. And yet… nothing had prepared her for this moment.

“Ginny?” Hermione managed, but her voice came out as more of a gasp. 

No one answered her, and the creature in front of her snorted, making her jump slightly. She turned her head, looking for her red-headed friend but she was several feet away, talking animatedly with a pair of Ravenclaw girls that Hermione didn’t recognize. Hermione wondered to herself how suddenly how there were so many people she didn’t know who attended this school, but she idly turned herself back to the creatures, crossing her arms. She examined them carefully, hoping like with most things that if she understood them, the fear gripping her chest would disappear. 

The pair of thestrals were perhaps a breeding pair, a male and female. She remembered reading somewhere that thestrals mated for life, and that the males were very intolerant of other males being near their females and this pair looked comfortable enough. They looked a bit like death personified, their heads slightly horned and skeletal but distinctly equine. Their black coats clung tightly to their bones, not a morsel of flesh to relieve the sharp lines of their body. There were large, black leathery wings sprouting from their backs that shuffled and glimmered slightly in the afternoon light streaming thickly through the trees. The one closest to her seemed to scent her, and it tilted its enormous head in her direction, the holes that shaped its nostrils flaring slightly as it made a vague squawking noise. Its smooth black mane blew gently in the breeze, and the pair tugged, chewing on their bridle. 

“If you keep staring at them that way Granger, they’re going to keep begging for food,” a low, drawling voice called from behind her. 

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin, and before she could control her reaction she had whirled and was glaring furiously at the smirking face of none other than Draco Malfoy. 

“What are you doing here?” she whispered furiously, clenching her fists while her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She hadn’t expected to see him until during the feast, and the realization of him before her left her feeling woefully unprepared. 

Malfoy glanced at her with an unreadable expression, strolling around her in one long step, reaching a pale hand out slowly toward one of the great winged beasts before them. He was in his school robes, the shiny Headboy badge pinned to his chest. Somehow, not a single inch of him was wrinkled. The exhaustion she had seen scarring his face this summer was gone, and he was clean shaven. She had thought that the thin gathering of hair on his chin had softened his face before, but how she saw now that he had perhaps grown into his chin completely. Malfoy had grown into a painfully handsome man, and something panged in her chest akin to jealousy. How could this man, who had done and said such despicable things carry himself as though the world couldn’t touch him? She was on the winning side, she had fought and grown and yet...

“This pair belonged to my father’s private herd,” Malfoy said it quietly enough, she was not sure he was even speaking.

“Excuse me?”

“Azrael and Charmeine,” Malfoy continued, gently scratching the first thestral gently under his chin before moving onto the smaller female, and brushing her bony cheeks in a way that made it seem like he had done it many times before, “They were seized by the Ministry of course, in the days that came after the fall, but I have to admit I do not mind that they will spend the rest of their days in the service of Hogwarts. Perhaps it is only fitting,”

Hermione had no idea what to say, so she just pulled on her sleeve, and watched her childhood bully brush these strange creatures like they were beloved childhood pets. 

Malfoy had turned his silver eyes to her, but continued to scratch the female, Charmeine, under her bony chin. The thestral hummed, and Hermione held back her shudder as the creature’s fangs were dangerously close to his hand. 

“I suppose this the first time you have seen one,” he drawled.

“Of course not,” Hermione argued, “They have been drawling our carriages since second year-“

“No, I mean, this is the first time you have really _seen_ one, Granger,” his voice came out like a lash, and again the deepness of it surprised her. 

“Oh,” Hermione mumbled, “Perhaps.” 

Malfoy, to her surprise didn’t mock her. He didn’t look at her in amusement, or with a smugness. He just looked at her until she shifted uncomfortably, the pressure of his gaze more than she could bare. She tugged, once again, on her sleeve. His eyes caught on the movement, but he said nothing.

“It was my sixth year, when I finally began to see them pulling the carriages to Hogwarts. I had thought, perhaps it was a hopeful thought, that the carriages were pulled by magic,” his voice was soft, and his hand dropped to his side, “Alas, I was wrong, as I was wrong about many things.” 

“Hermione!” she heard someone call for her over her shoulder.

Malfoy continued his thorough examination of her, and she waited for the insults, but they did not come.

A beat passed, and then, “Run along to your friends, Granger.”

Her mind was whirring like a machine that needed oiled and it took a few painful moments to get her mind to make her mouth work again, “I received your message. I wanted to let you know that we are expected to round for the first two nights so that the rounding schedule can be completed, and the prefects can settle in.”

If he seemed surprised by this information, he did not let it show, and he simply nodded in acknowledgement. 

“I can meet you outside the Great Hall after the feast if you would like, or if you would like some time a settle for a moment, we can meet elsewhere…” she continued.

Why was this so bloody awkward? He seemed to have little useful to say, unless he was ranting about his father’s herd of thestrals and witnessing death. 

“I have to talk to the headmistress after the feast, so we can meet at the bottom of the tower,” he drawled finally. She noted a faint hint of color on his cheeks. Like he was embarrassed.

“They’re keeping you on a tight leash,” she commented. She wasn’t sure why she did.

“Hermione! Come on!” this was Ginny’s voice now, closer than before.

Malfoy snorted, stepping away from the thestrals now and climbing halfway into the carriage before she heard his answer, “Wouldn’t you?”

“What are you doing? Standing here, gawking at the ferret, sweet Merlin…” Ginny was muttering and pulling her towards the nearby carriage that Luna, Neville and Hannah had already climbed in and were waiting for her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt, “Head business, you know.”

“Right,” Ginny answered, rolling her eyes. 

She could feel the weight of his silver eyes the whole way to her carriage, and she couldn’t help but fidget until she climbed in next to her friend. When she was settled in next to Hannah, she looked back at the carriage Malfoy had just climbed into, but the curtain had been pulled. Still, she could feel his eyes, and her skin itched. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. :) And I'm sorry for any typos/grammatical errors. I promise more is coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think ! (: 
> 
> I apologize for any grammatical errors. I'm forever betaless, and I do much of my writing in the night... I will be trying to go back and reword some sentencing and fix typos as I go.


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